


A Man Can Dream

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Sussex Retirement [19]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Retirement Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: In their Sussex cottage Holmes and Watson both dream.





	1. Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1 and 2 written for LJ's Older Not Dead 'Dream' challenge, Chapter 3 written for LJ's FFFC 'Garden' challenge and Holmes Minor 'Flowers' challenge.

It is a sign of increasing age that one discovers the sheer enjoyment of sitting back in an armchair at the end of the day with a glass of excellent quality port (a present from Mycroft) in one hand, and a novel borrowed from the local lending library in the other.  Holmes and I were therefore spending a quiet evening together enjoying such a pursuit, or when I say we, to be accurate – and Holmes does like me to be accurate in my observations – I, was enjoying this activity; the beekeeping journal Holmes had been reading had slipped to the floor and he was resting his eyes.

I was engrossed in my novel, where the heroes were hacking their way through the jungle in search of a mythical dragon-like creature, when I realised Holmes was apparently engaged in the same process.  His arms were flailing as if he was battling the creepers and the occasional snake which, rather improbably, had been dropping from the jungle canopy.

I watched for a moment, somewhat amused at his antics, before I decided I would need to wake him.  From the expressions on his face he was clearly battling something and although he had not dreamt of Reichenbach for some months, it was not impossible something had triggered a memory.

My first step was to move Holmes’ glass of port, for it would be a waste were his movements to knock it flying.  Apart from the annoyance caused to Mrs Maiden by a large red stain on the rug, it seemed a shame to lose a drop from such an excellent vintage.

Long experience had taught me that to try and wake Holmes by shaking his shoulder when he is in the throes of such dreams is counter-productive.  He will strike out completely unaware of what he is doing, and it would not be the first time I had sported a bruise on my face where he had tried to defend himself, convinced I was Professor Moriarty.

I therefore adopted my usual course of action, by placing my hand gently on his cheek.  Even though my hands have roughened with age, and this past year’s gardening has certainly hardened them further, Holmes always recognises my hand. 

“Holmes,” I said softly, “Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

His face relaxed, losing some of the tension and his arms stilled.  He blinked and slowly opened his eyes.

“Reichenbach?” I asked quietly.

“No.”  Holmes smiled back at me.  “Not this time.  My bees were angry with me for failing to provide something they wanted.  They were trying to tell me what it was, but I couldn’t understand them.”  He shook his head.

“This is what comes of having cheese for supper and then reading your bee journal,” I replied.

“Very funny,” he grumbled.  “I shall ask them about it tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Watson,” he said, “I have frequently referred to you as my conductor of light.  Is it really so farfetched that in matters pertaining to apiculture I consult the bees instead?”  He stretched.  “I think I shall go to bed.  I am clearly not going to make much progress with the journal tonight, and tomorrow looks to be starting fair, so I shall be rising early.”

I promised to follow shortly.  As he left I bent down to retrieve the journal.  It was open at a page of bee friendly plants.  I took a quick glance, noting with pleasure that we were already growing some of those suggested, before placing the journal by Holmes’ chair.


	2. Watson

Holmes was still awake when I joined him.  He looked at me with affection as I settled down, and nuzzled my neck.  I stroked his hair and he sighed happily.  Had we been twenty years younger matters might have proceeded in a more energetic fashion, but as it was, the spirit might have been willing, but the flesh was most certainly practically asleep.  And twenty years ago we took whatever opportunity we had, never knowing what the following days would bring; now our days were far more ordered.

It was not long before I fell asleep.  I woke a few hours later to see Holmes’ face looking almost deathlike in pallor.  For a second I was startled, then I realised it was only because there was a full moon and the light was streaming through the curtains.  I slipped out of bed and looked out of the window at the landscape which was bathed in silvery moonlight.  Holmes may accuse me of using overly poetic language at times, but I defy anyone to view the countryside under a full moon and not resort to poetry.

I looked over our garden and my mind reverted to the conversation I had had with Seth regarding the summer planting.  The threats of frost were now passed and it was time to choose where the annuals, which Seth had been growing from seed, were to be planted.  I tried to imagine how the garden could look when everything was in bloom and the silver of the night had blossomed under the bright gold of the summer sun.

I returned to bed and snuggled against Holmes for warmth.  The days might be growing warmer, but as yet the nights were still quite cold and standing by the window in my nightshirt had left me feeling chilly.  It was not long before I fell back asleep.

I dreamt we had dug many straight rows in the soil and sown our seeds.  The plants had all come up, but there was something wrong with them.  Each plant had grown straight and true, with leaves surrounding the stalks, and yet to my mind there seemed to be something missing.  I looked more closely and saw there were no flowers on any of the plants, not even any sign of a bud.

I wondered at this, and then realised this was what I had requested.  I had straight plants in straight rows.  Everything was identical in its greenness, with no flower heads to interrupt the uniformity.  It was a triumph of order and nothing like a garden.  I grabbed a spade and began to dig up the plants.

In the morning, Holmes, as expected, rose early.  And much to his surprise I had joined him before he finished his breakfast.

“You’re early today, dear boy,” he said.  “Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I had a strange dream,” I admitted, “but yes, I did sleep well.  However, I have not yet confirmed to Seth which flowers we shall be having where, and he will need to get on with the planting.  The weather will break in a few days, and it would be best if everything were in before it does.”

“Will there be anything new for my bees?” Holmes asked.

“Oh yes.  You may tell your bees there will be treats for them too; they will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you.”  Holmes stood up.  “I shall see you later.  Enjoy your planning.”

“I will.”  I had already taken up pencil and paper and was making a rough sketch of the garden.

I worked solidly for the next hour or so, plotting and counter-plotting.  Mrs Maiden tutted at me as she tried to sweep the toast crumbs from the tablecloth, but I ignored her and she departed again.  Eventually I had a preliminary plan ready for when Seth arrived.  He might suggest one or two of the plants be moved elsewhere if I had chosen unsuitable growing positions, but on the whole I believed it would work.

My dream had been right.  I had been so concerned with ensuring the garden looked right, with the correct heights and colours selected for each border, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed choosing plants simply because I liked their looks, or for the memories they brought back.  I added one final flower to my plan and smiled with satisfaction.


	3. Planting

Seth arrived early the following Saturday.  We had everything planned and now all that was necessary was the digging, which required younger limbs than Seth and I possessed.  William now had an apprenticeship, so it was only Arthur, his younger brother, who was helping Seth on a regular basis.  However Richard, one of the boys’ cousins, had been persuaded to come, and the two lads set to digging with enthusiasm.  
  
One of the first flower beds to be planted was one in a far corner.  I took particular pleasure in planting corncockles and cornflowers there.  These were the flowers I had seen in Holmes’ beekeeping journal and I knew he would be delighted when he found out.  I had resolved not to tell him as yet, but would let the bees themselves inform him once the flowers were in bloom.  
  
The rest of the borders were filled with a mixture of snapdragon, phlox, zinnias, petunias and pansies.  The roses were already in bud, as were several of the other bushes, and I was delighted to see so many of the perennials we had planted the previous year were growing well.  In about a month’s time the garden should once again be the riot of colour I had enjoyed last year.  
  
We were all pleased when Mrs Maiden called us to say she had made a pot of tea.  The two lads bounded towards the house, in anticipation of the homemade lemonade she had promised them.  Seth and I made our way rather more slowly, as befitted our more mature years and aching backs.  She had also made some rock cakes, which the lads were devouring by the time we arrived.  
  
“Leave some cakes for your grandfather and the doctor,” she was admonishing the lads sternly when we entered the kitchen, although we could see she was smiling.  
  
“And make sure you leave room for your dinner,” Seth added.  I don’t know why he bothered – Arthur had hollow legs, and Richard seemed to be emulating his cousin in this respect.  
  
I had arranged for Mrs Maiden to provide a good dinner for us all.  Seth charged considerably less than I deemed was merited for his services, and would have been very offended if I had tried to press extra on him.  By providing a proper meal I felt in some small way I was redressing the balance.  
  
The final small bed was left to me to plant.  It was the bed just outside our front door.  Seth passed me the impatiens plants and I dug the holes and set them in the soil.  We had first planted them there two years ago, and I had vowed I would continue to do so.  They had been Mary’s favourite flower and to me it was one way of bringing her presence with us now we were living in Sussex.


End file.
